Story of One
by Lady Discord
Summary: In a prejudiced society, a girl in search of her destiny finds a mentor and confident in a mysterious female traveler who is compelled to seek shelter at the Fort. While the girl seeks male attention the woman is adamant in her desire to pass unnoticed.
1. Prologue

**Brief Summary:  **

_~ In a prejudiced society, a girl in search of her destiny finds a mentor and confident in a mysterious female traveler who is compelled to seek shelter at the Fort. While the girl seeks male attention the woman is adamant in her desire to pass unnoticed.~ _

_The girl is 17 year old Amarice, the oldest daughter of Vanora and Bors. Unknown to her parents she befriended a Woad female warrior who trained her in the art of combat. Though far from ready, Amarice wanted to fight the Roman invaders alongside the Woads but her illusions were shattered when the female Woad suddenly disappeared. _

_Things get more complicated when her secret is discovered by Lancelot, the very man she had been infatuated with for over a year, while he did not even know her. _

_Not long afterwards Amarice meets Maniya, a traveler from the east, who came to Britannia in search of an old friend. The two of them get acquainted when circumstances force Maniya to spend a night at the fort and Amarice soon discovers that she could learn much from this woman. _

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**PROLOGUE**

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At the early age of seventeen Vanora, at the time a young maiden from Britannia serving at the tavern in the fortress of Hadrian's Wall, gave birth to a beautiful daughter, conceived with one of the knights who were brought there to protect the Roman establishments from the Woads, British rebels who despised the Roman invaders, and eventually from the the years Bors and Vanora became more than just occasional lovers and had together eleven children. His fellow knights would often use this as the target for their jokes, having a laugh on Bors' account for having impregnated Vanora on the very first day of their arrival since that was the approximate date when Amarice was conceived.

Growing up had been difficult for Amarice. Being the oldest, her mother expected her to help raise the siblings who kept on coming, one after the other. Perhaps another would have welcomed such activities, seeing them as practice for the future but Amarice disliked such a inherited the beauty of her mother and the character of her father, she had always been a wild-spirited, rebellious girl, pulling more pranks than all her brothers put together. Out of love for her mother, Amarice had to put her pride and dreams aside and at an age as young as ten she had started to help her mother out in the tavern, either with the cleaning or with the 's knights, the most regular customers at the tavern were always nice and friendly to her, yet there was something Amarice disliked: they continued to treat her like a child even when she turned fifteen. That was undoubtedly a consequence of her being a tom-boy in her early years but along with puberty came the revealing of her feminine side.

With that came certain desires as well. She began to see life in a different way and some of her childhood dreams changed, though her rebellious nature remained the same. Then something unpredictable happened: she began to feel a strong, different attraction for the Knight named Lancelot.

With every passing month her secret affections for him grew in intensity and what should have been a beautiful feeling turned into a horrible one when she saw how little attention he was giving her, despite the femininity she was striving to display. He would flirt and joke with all the other women, even with her mother, but never with her. Amarice often thought that perhaps she was the only one to notice she was no longer a child.

Disappointed, she tried to spend as little time as possible at the tavern and in the daytime she would go outside the fortress under the pretext that she was going to the river either to bathe or to wash clothing. What she actually did was meet with a female Woad warrior whom she had befriended months before when the woman had saved Amarice from two bandits who attacked her in the forest. After that experience, the stubborn Amarice pleaded with the Woad woman until she agreed to teach her to fight.

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**NOTE:**

_For the purpose of the story I have assumed that some of the Knights were in their late teens/early twenties when they arrived at the fort at Hadrian's Wall. Since Amarice is 17, it means they have been there for more than 15 years, which is actually more believable to me since the actors in the movie looked too old to be only in their late twenties, since that would have been the case assuming they were taken from home at around the age of 12 or 14 and had spent 15 years in Britannia._

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	2. Chapter 1: The Last Outpost

**NOTE: **_Thank you very much to all who have reviewed so far. I admit I've had the fear of the marysue trap ever since the idea for this story came to mind and although I don't like writing about teenagers, I just couldn't resist. I saw this girl Amarice on the Xena show and immediately though she looked so much like Vanora. _

_If you will ever find my descriptions of Amarice's physique to be too marysue-like, please don't blame me, just google the name and take a look at that girl, because I did not invent her looks. And I don't know about you, but I'm a straight girl and I feel like kissing her, lol :P But don't worry, I generally don't like to make lavish, subjective descriptions of my characters' looks, that's why I put in that "cast of original characters" thing on my profile page.  
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_Also, please overlook historical, geographical and any other sorts of such inaccuracies. I tried as best as I could to blend in actual historical facts with the semi-historical facts of the movie and make a cohesive whole. For the purpose of the story I will modify from time to time actual dates and historical facts to make them fit in the fictional universe I have created._

_( I mentioned Bors and Vanora having only ten children so far because the events in this chapter take place 2 years before the movie. )_

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**CHAPTER 1: _The Last Outpost_**

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The apogee once reached only stagnation and decline can follow. Having become all that it could under the socio-political, military, economical and geographical circumstances of the time, the Mighty Roman Empire began its inevitable decline, starting with the division made by Diocletian in 285 AD, when facts proved that one man alone was unable to govern over such a vast territory and so many nations brought together under one rule. The half of the former power that later came to be known as the Western Roman Empire met its downfall sooner and more hastily than its eastern counterpart. Beginning with the latter half of the 3rd century a grave crisis broke out throughout the empire. Internally, it was weakened by civil wars, the violent succession of brief emperors and secession in the provinces, while externally it faced a new wave of attacks by "barbaric" tribes.

In 467 AD the Western Roman Empire came under the rule of Procopius Anthemius, dubbed later as one of the "shadow emperors" of the 5th century, yet at the same time considered to be perhaps the last able Emperor. Anthemius focused his attention on solving the two primary military challenges facing the remains of the Western Roman Empire: the resurgent Visigoths whose domain straddled the Pyrenees and the constant threat to Roman sea-fare in the Mediterranean posed by the Kingdom of the Vandals. As a result of the ever larger struggle for a long lost stability, imperial orders were dispatched to call home legions previously sent to secure the distant borders of the Empire and ensure the development of those remote provinces in accordance with Roman law, culture and technology.

Britannia was one of the territories listed to be abandoned. A Roman province since the mid 1st century AD, it had always been among the Roman territories that required permanent garrisons and whose governor's role was primarily military. To try and maintain some stability in the distant province in spite of the gradual retreat of Roman legions and officials, the emperors of the early and mid 5th century continued a tradition started by Emperor Marcus Aurelius in 175 AD. This involved the enrolment of boys and young men from amongst the Sarmatian tribes of the Eastern Steps to serve under Roman commanders in cataphract-like cavalry units. A cataphract was a form of heavy cavalry initially used by nomadic eastern Iranian tribes. These heavily armored warriors mounted on equally heavy armored strong war horses were what shocked and impressed the Romans in their wars with the Persians and the Sarmatians. If the Persian Empire proved to be a worthy opponent impossible to be subdued, the more divided Sarmatian nation fell under Roman rule, yet, impressed with their cavalry and skilled fighters the Romans chose to use this new discovery to their advantage.

For almost three centuries Sarmatian fighters had been stationed at various forts annexed to the cross-island man-made barrier known as Hadrian's Wall, which served to protect the more highly Romanized southern part of the province from the rebel indigenous tribes of the northern parts. The last Sarmatian men to be brought to Britannia had been stationed at Fort Vercovicium, a Latin name meaning simply "the place of the fighters". Like the others brought before them, the men belonging to these unique heavy-cavalry units adopted the name given to them by the natives. Soon the once cataphracts of Sarmatia came to be known as Knights. In 467 AD only six Sarmatian Knights of the ones to have been brought over the last 15 years were still alive in Britannia, stationed at Fort Vercovicium under the command of a Roman-Britton leader, Lucius Artorius Castus, better known as Arthur.

Fifteen years and then freedom was theirs. That was what they had been told, that was what they had been fighting for, a much awaited freedom that had yet to come. Now the time was near; they thought the hour of liberation was upon them … they were wrong.

"It has to be this, it just has to," an overenthusiastic Galahad looked back to Gawain just before taking his place at the round table. The long-haired man patted the younger one on the shoulder, his gesture somehow more comforting than encouraging.

"Let us hope so," Gawain replied while sitting down at the table himself. Unlike Galahad he had a more skeptical look about him.

The beginning of the week following the one to come marked the end of their forced servitude to Rome, not only the fifteen years spent in Britannia but the months it took them to get there as well. For a few weeks now life seemed to be more peaceful than ever in the southern half of the island; no trouble at the fort, no perilous missions to go on, no Woads attacking, no battles to fight. And now they all hoped the reason for which Arthur had called for the meeting was to announce that their dispatch papers for safe conduct throughout the empire would be delivered soon. It all just seemed too good to be true.

"I don't know 'bout the rest of you but I've never trusted the Romans to keep their word," Bors commented in response to Galahad's enthusiasm, appearing skeptical as well, but unlike Gawain he treated the feeling with indifference and a mocking grin.

"Don't ruin it for all of us Bors just because you have a licking for this wretched island," Galahad immediately spat out, attempting still to hide his annoyance behind a smile.

"Yeah, well you keep to your wishful thinking, I'm just being realistic."

"Arthur will be joining us soon," Lancelot finally spoke from his sit on the opposite side of the table. "We should wait and hear the news before passing judgment." As he often did, Lancelot had kept silent and observed the erupting conversation, intervening only when he felt necessary to appease the two arguing parties and prevent the conflict from reaching higher and more unpleasant levels.

Hardly had Lancelot spoken when the large doors left to where Dagonet was sitting opened with a noise and the commander made his entrance.

"Knights …" he stopped only briefly to greet with a nod the six men who had already risen. Arthur being his usual, stoic self the knights found it difficult to guess from his expression the nature of the news they were expecting to receive. When he raised his hand to show them a rolled parchment he had brought with him, Galahad's heart leaped with enthusiasm, making the young knight lean forward and anxiously place his hands on the edge of the table.

"A messenger arrived this morning to deliver this letter," Arthur spoke at long last, his words feeding Galahad's enthusiasm more than anything else before. "Commander Marcus Claudius Verus of Fort Magnis is requesting our assistance. The Woads have managed to mount up a strong attack, probably with weapons and equipment acquired after raiding the abandoned forts of the far west," the commander began to explain, referring to Roman forts along Hadrian's Wall, just like Vercovicium, that had begun to be abandoned when Rome ordered its officials and military men to return home. Some of them stayed behind, mostly the men who had married local women, but with the main army missing the security of the forts was no longer what it used to be. "We will be ridding out immediately to join Marcus Verus' remaining legion in keeping the Woads at bay at least until the civilian population of the fort is evacuated. Questions?" Arthur asked solemnly after having shared with his men all the available information on the matter.

The grand chamber was sunk into a deep silence. Arthur caught a glimpse of his first knight and closest friend, sited three stools away to his left, shaking his head and smiling ironically as if he had expected this all along, as opposed to Galahad's illusory wishing. Not long afterwards the young knight broke the silence with a nervous laughter that drew everyone's attention.

"I don't understand … what is this?" he asked with a look of complete bewilderment mixed with sadness and profound disappointment.

"That's the Romans keeping their word," Bors replied with sarcasm, letting out a hoarse, muffled laugh.

"What do you mean, Galahad?" Moving past Bors' comment, Arthur continued to eye Galahad insistently, wanting to know what was troubling him and see what could be done to mend it.

"There aren't any more missions we have to go on. It's over! Our fifteen years pact with Rome is done," a revolted Galahad spat out his grievances.

"We still have one week left," Tristan pointed out, speaking for the first time on his common, emotionless voice.

"What is one week to fifteen years?" Galahad retorted immediately, waving his left hand.

"Exactly," Tristan muttered, agreeing in fact to the opposite of what Galahad was thinking.

The on-going commotion made Gawain speak in an attempt to explain more clearly to Arthur what Galahad wanted to say and also prevent his young friend's rage from growing larger. A close bond had formed between the two over the years and Gawain came to regard Galahad as a younger brother whom he felt compelled to protect and guide on the right path.

"We've been told there are some papers we must receive once our service to Rome is done. Have any such papers arrived yet?"

"If they had arrived you know I would have told you the minute they did. No news of it has come from Rome either. I am truly sorry." For a brief moment the commander lowered his eyes, a look of defeat showing on his face.

"You are not to blame for anything, Arthur," Lancelot reminded him with a scolding glance, disliking how his friend would so often feel guilt for misfortunes he had not caused or had no way of controlling.

"Perhaps the papers will be delivered on the day they should, not sooner or later," Dagonet brought forth a rational argument which he hoped would sooth the tension between his fellow knights.

"Perhaps they never will," Galahad's impulsive nature got the better of him once more, making Bors let out another ironic remark.

"You just keep those happy thoughts coming, lad."

"Men …," Arthur called out to re-establish everyone's focus "… we have a duty to fulfill, not to Rome but to innocent people in need," he added rapidly, hopping to anticipate and appease any protests from his men, however subtle. He was well aware that they were not found of obeying the ones who had devastated their homeland and enslaved their people but he had always went to great lengths to make them understand the importance of fighting for a right cause, for helping those unable to help themselves. "We ride out in one hour."

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Not everything in a Roman fort was war-related or required military training. Although each soldier also had a regular job on the base to ensure the perpetuation of the erected structures and the daily needs of its inhabitants, there was also a fairly large civilian population present, consisting of native dwellers. Despite there being rebels who still fought their conquerors, many others had submitted to their fates long ago, some out of fear or necessity and others because of the advantages they saw in accepting the advanced technology and more civilized ways of the Romans.

Such large, permanent settlements as Fort Vercovicium had inevitably drawn groups of locals that had settled outside the stone walls, beginning to hunt in the vicinity and cultivate the land. They did so for safety reasons, as they could live a secure life near a heavily guarded military stronghold rather than in the wilderness and also for trading opportunities. Inside the fort a marketplace would be established and the natives were allowed to advance half-way to the praetorium or the "headquarters", named so because the Praetor or base commander and his staff lived there.

In this common area left and right of the Via Praetoria, the street coming from the Eastern Gate, called so because the praetorium interrupted it, Romans and Britons mixed amongst each other in the ever present crowds. The first large building parallel to the eastern wall and left of the Via Praetoria housed in its southern end the fort's tavern, run mainly by a local woman named Vanora. She had lived at the fort since childhood and for quite a few years she had been the lover of the knight named Bors and had bore him ten children. Their love did not have the purity and softness of those praised in poems nor did it have the simplicity one might expect from such an emotion. One moment they would quarrel viciously, Vanora often proving to be the one able to subdue her partner with her fiery temper, and the next moment they would be throwing themselves in a passionate, public display of unbridled lust. They would taunt and tease each other, jest and mock in a contest of wits, yet their love endured and unlike others, it was a sincere one.

Though not married, they lived as husband and wife, happy with their many offsprings. The little bastards, as Bors would often call them, though with genuine affection, did not understand much of their parents' complex relationship, wondering sometimes why they were not married like the parents of their friends. There was one among them however who understood more of the subtleties of life simply because she had lived longer than the rest and she had gradually began to shed the innocence and naivety of youth in order to embrace the burdens, sorrows and limitations of maturity. Bors and Vanora's first born was a girl, now fifteen years of age, whom they had named Amarice.

Helping her mother with daily chores for as long as she could remember, Amarice always felt out of place somewhat. She could not refuse helping her mother yet at the same time she did not particularly enjoy doing it. Vanora attributed most of her oldest daughter's rebellious outbursts to a temper she must have inherited from her father and Amarice actually liked that idea. She enjoyed her father's company and wished there was something she could do to make him be pround of her the same as he was of Gilly, her younger brother by six years. Whenever time allowed it Bors would spar with his sons, teaching them how to be good fighters, but he always sent her off to play with her sisters or help her mother.

Later in the morning, before the knights rode out with their commander, Bors took care to give his farewells to his lover and children, not knowing for how many days they would be gone. He told Vanora to kiss his older daughter for him since Amarice was not there at the time. With a large basket held with her left arm against her torso and the other arm holding a smaller but taller basket against her right hip, the girl had barely made it through the busy streets of the fort to reach the more solitary dirt path outside that cut through the grassy field, connecting the main road leading to the east Gate to an oval pond stretching in front of the forest to the south-east.

Hearing hooves beats behind her, Amarice stopped and turned to watch Arthur Castus and his Sarmatian cavalry leave the fort at great speed. Neither her father nor any of the other knights noticed Amarice amongst all the villagers. She was standing too far away from the road they followed and with the common dress she wore, of a green-brownish colour, she was not easy to locate, especially from a distance and while riding with speed.

With some other women also carrying heavy baskets urging her to keep moving Amarice did as told and continued her walk to the edge of the pond where she settled the two baskets on the ground and kneeled, preparing o take out one by one the cloths and clothing she had brought and wash them in the clear water. The men galloping in the distance caught her sight once more and she watched them until they disappeared beneath the horizon. Moving to the left, her eyes stopped to stare at the forest in front of her, on the other side of the pond.

Something that happened five years earlier returned to haunt her. That memory had marked her and something changed within her that day, though she never understood what in particular. In a day the same as the current, young Amarice, a child of only ten at that time, broke off unseen from her mother's side, who was preoccupied with taking care of her many younger children. The little girl made her way back to the pond where her mother had been washing clothing along with other women. The Roman soldiers were more restless than ever, ushering the villagers outside within the fort while other groups advanced along the roads in marching formation. The young girl paid little attention to these things, continuing to search the grassy shore for a peculiar bluish pebble she had found and liked so much, but forgot to take when her mother rushed her.

Some noises to the right suddenly caught her ear and the scene that unfolded stunned the unexpecting child who stood and starred with eyes wide open and mouth agape. With a fierce battle cry tens of scantily clad men and women carrying swords and axes rushed out of the forest and towards the nearest Roman patrol. Though human in appearance the skin of these attackers was of a bluish hue, adorned with dark blue wavy lines that formed intricate patterns. Another wave came out after the first, running as frantically and fiercely as the rest and some coming straight for her. Confused and scarred she could not react in any way until all of a sudden a dark stallion stopped in front of her and a strong arm pulled her up.

"Hold tight!" It was all that Lancelot said to Amarice after lifting her up to sit in front of him on the saddle. There was no time for scolding remarks and before she had even settled Lancelot urged his horse to gallop with speed towards the fort. To Amarice this was not a relief, if anything she was upset with him for having taken her away and as they rode she struggled to look back past his shoulder at the strange warriors. Were they the same blue daemons that lived in the woods of which her father had told her so many stories just to keep her from wondering off on her own?

Gazing back, Amarice saw her father jumping off his horse and charging viciously at the blue warriors who fought back with strength and skill. What amazed her the most was that half of the warriors if not more so were females. She found this puzzling as she had never heard of women fighting wars, at least she had never seen one at the fort. Lancelot delivered young Amarice to her mother who stood waiting at the Eastern Gate, struggling with the guards who would not allow her to go in search of her daughter. The mother's cries and scolding went ignored by the girl who still gazed back, captivated by those mysterious people.

After that incident the blue people in the forest were all that the girl talked about, bringing her parents to the point of insanity until finally her father admitted defeat before his restless child and ceased to scare her with made-up stories about daemons. She told Amarice that the ones they called Woads were common people like any other, only that they painted their bodies and roared like savages to frighten their opponents in battle. When she was old enough to understand, her father explained to her the reasons for which the rebel Britons fought against Rome and often she was left with the impression that he sympathized with their cause. Neither Bors nor the other knights felt compelled to restrain their disdain for the Romans, the people who had taken them by force from their homeland and forced them to fight for a cause not of their own.

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_Anything that remained unexplained in this chapter will be explained more thoroughly in the following. Hope you enjoyed it so far and feel free to leave any comments or suggestions in a review._


	3. Chapter 2: Woman of the Woods

**NOTE: **_First of all, thank you very much for reviewing! Many thanks to _Anime Princess _and_ TragicCure!!!

_Secondly, please excuse any character speech written in a non-literary English. This is the only means through which I can make a distinction between the Vulgar Latin of the common people and the Pure (literary) Latin spoken by those who have acquired it as a first language._

_Every language in history had to have its argotic terms and since I am writing the story in English I can only use English slang when I need to have the characters speak in slang. Nevertheless, I shall never use terms or expressions that are either too modern or simply sound out of place in the context.  
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_**CHAPTER 2: **_**Woman of the Woods**_

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**_Long minutes must have passed until Amarice realized she had been kneeling by the side of the pond, starring at the forest beyond while her mind spanned memories of the past. Five years before she had seen for the first time what a Woad looked like and it was then that her warrior spirit arised. The Woads did not succeed in their attack on Fort Vercovicium that day. Once again Roman discipline and tactic proved superior to the instinctive rage of the natives. Nevertheless, that one time they had an excuse. Despite what the Romans might have thought, the Britton rebels had intelligent leaders who knew better than to send their people to their deaths in a siege of a massive military stronghold. But that year the rebels' hierarchy had fallen into chaos when one of the most ruthless governors Britannia had ever known mercilessly slaughtered his opponents, crucifying women, children and elders alike as an example to all. Most ironically, soon afterwards the tyrant met his end at the hands of a Britton, a woman, a Woad.

The young rebel had pretended to be his servant, patiently waiting for the moment to strike and one evening a knife used to peel fruit had found its way in the side of the man's neck. Her immediate capture was inevitable and the guards slit her throat on the spot, but she had accepted that faith before taking on the task.

These stories enthralled and frightened Amarice. Born of a Sarmatian and a Britton, she had never been sympathetic towards the Romans she was forced to live around and as she grew so did her hatred for them. At fifteen she dreamt of being a warrior like so many Woad women, her mother's people, but she was faced once more with a crucial impediment: she had no skill, no training and no knowledge of where to begin. She was reluctant to ask her father to train her or even share her dreams with her mother for fear of being laughed at and shoved aside. Thus far she could only watch the men train and secretly practice the moves she had striven so hard to memorize … but to no avail. No improvised method compared to having a teacher.

"You, girl! Start washin', the sun's not gonna stay up fo' long."

Amarice's head turned to the sound of the rough feminine voice calling out to her. She was annoyed and startled at the same time for having been bulled out of her dreaming. When she answered Amarice spoke the same vulgar Latin the woman had spoken, possessing a similar accent common to the Romanized Britton community.

"Yeah, I'll get to it, in a minute," she murmured the last words when her back had turned again to the interrupting woman who, with a scornful gaze returned to her washing.

With idle hands Amarice picked up a tunic from the pile of clothes and dipped it into the cool water, waiting a few seconds then proceeding to rub the fabric between her palms. Sometimes she used a brush or a greasy concoction to remove stains, then she would rub and damp the fabric a few more times until the clothes in the larger basket had all been washed. They now hung whet and heavy on its outer edge and some on the bottom, waiting for the warm sun and soft breeze to make them light again.

It was only because the scolding woman had been keeping an eye on her that Amarice had the patience to stay still and labor for so long. The moment she had left Amarice dropped the smaller basket she had picked up and without looking back she ran to encircle the pond and head for the forest. She acted out of impulse as always and did not know herself what had suddenly drawn her there, to the very spot where the blue man from whom Lancelot saved her had stood. The memories still vivid in her mind, Amarice walked the path the Woads had walked when they burst out from their hiding places, tall trees and thick bushed that Amarice now passed by.

Unfamiliar with the source of this sudden urge she followed it nonetheless, trusting it blindly and submitting to what she thought to be a calling, her calling. Soft chirping high in the trees and swirling currents brushing past leaves and branches welcomed the visitor stepping further and further into the sylvan habitat. The path she had been following led Amarice to a clearing where a dirt road stretched in front; to the right it most certainly led to the main road leading to the Eastern Gate of Fort Vercovicium.

The young girl was no longer alone, no longer hidden, no longer safe. Two men, travelers it seemed, peasants most likely by the design of their ragged robes of earthy colours, had spotted the pretty, slim figure that emerged from the woods. Amarice saw them stop and stare, conversing with each other. The distance made it impossible for her to hear their conversation but their distant figures bore somewhat of a mocking grin.

"You lost pretty girl?" one of them called out loud enough for her to hear. He spoke in a broken Britton with a specific accent. Amarice could not quite place it, but feeling the man might be of Roman origin, she panicked. Many times she had heard of Romans assaulting native women and sometimes even their own, but Britton men had no such inclinations, or at least she had not met any who did. The ones she had met were decent, common met striving to earn their living, some on their own, others by getting into some Roman's good graces.

To hide her anxiety, Amarice kept her calm and proceeded to slowly turn and make her way back. Another shout from one of the men and the sound of rushing feet urged her head backwards one single time. Seeing the men running towards her immediately gave her the same impulse. Without looking back she started running aimlessly through the forest, not knowing if she was heading back or going into a completely new direction. The faster men caught up with her soon. Desperate, she made an abrupt turn that indeed of freeing her trapped her between her two pursuers. Too obvious was the vulgarity behind the concern they expressed verbally and their offers to lead her safely out of the woods brought more dread than relief into Amarice's heart, as she was old enough to perceive the men's true intentions.

No words came out of her month. She starred into the eyes of the man in front of her, looking petrified but actually waiting for the opportune moment to spring to her right. Only the upper half of her body managed to turn in that direction before the man behind her forcefully grabbed her upper arms, immobilizing her on the spot. With greedy eyes and hands reaching forward, the man in front approached the squirming girl.

Then something moved, up, high in the trees, so it seemed by the sound of it. Was she hearing things, echoes of her memories, Amarice asked herself when the same battle-cry she had heard five years earlier, when the blue warriors attacked, was all of a sudden vibrating in her ears. What followed remained forever a blur in her memory, the rush of it all and her fear acting together in detriment of her clear thinking. A blue skinned, leather clad female dropped down from above, an axe held above her head with both hands. Just before her feet touched the ground the sharp edge of the axe struck the backside of the man who was holding Amarice. The blow of the metal now stuck deep in his flesh was fatal and the man's lifeless body fell forward against Amarice, its weight pushing her to the ground.

The blue woman's feet had hit the ground hard, inevitably causing pain that she skillful hid under a look of rage. Her knees had bent at the moment of impact, but with her hands still clutched on the wooden hilt of the ax, she managed to regain her balance and not stumble backwards. Letting go of the hilt she allowed the dead man to knock the girl to the ground, focusing instead on her other target. Still in a crouched position, like a predator eyeing its pray, the woman growled like one, drawing out at the same time a light short sword she carried in a hilt strapped to her back by means of an improvised leather cord contraption. A sword hanging against her hip would have proved a nuisance when it came to running, jumping, climbing trees or even mounting a horse.

"You savage blue wench, I'll cut you in pieces!" the man threatened with excessive hatred and rage, pulling out a hunting knife, the only blade he had on him.

Both charged at the same time, the woman with her sword held high, overhead, and the man moving in to slice her neck before she could deliver her blow. With the agility of a seasoned warrior, the woman anticipated his move and ducked, throwing herself to her right, landing on the ground on one side then rapidly rolling forward to distance herself from her attacker until she could gain the upper hand. Crouched once again she starred and waited for the other to make the first move, urging the man with an animalistic growl. Yelling with anger he attacked, she brought her sword to block his slash and for a few moments their blades clenched in a contest of strength where both tensed their arms' muscles and pushed forward in an attempt to overcome the other. The woman cringed in frustration and brought her other hand to the hilt of the sword to increase her resistance but the wicked man chose an unexpected moment to kick her in the stomach. That, combined with his blade pushing powerfully against hers, made the woman fall to the ground and drop her weapon.

The man's rough hand grabbed hold of a bunch of her curly, light brown hair, pulling it to force the woman upwards. Hurting physically, but with more fury burning her on the inside, the woman reached for a smaller knife she carried attached to her waist belt and before the knife in the man's right hand could cut her flesh she lunged up and impaled her own blade all the way to the hilt in the man's neck, just below his chin. A single gasp escaped his mouth and he was gone. She let his body fall and took a moment to catch her breath before retrieving her knife, wiping the blood against the dead man's robes. The sword was the next item she retrieved and finally she reached for her ax.

At first she ignored Amarice who had struggled with little success to push aside the heavy dead body that had immobilized her to the ground. The woman removed the ax, cleaned the blade as before and put it back in its place against her hip. Then she reached to grab the dead man by his hair with one hand and by the arm with the other and with disgust she pushed him aside, kicking his torso to roll him further away.

Speechless and with wide eyes, Amarice starred at the strange woman, fair despite her painted skin, dressed like a man from the waist down, with pants and boots, but with a strange top made of both soft, brownish cloth and hard leather, with straps and even metallic pieces here and there. For Amarice that looked very strange, like something that was made up irrationally, in a hurry, following no clothing design she had ever seen. Gauntlets of leather adorned with metal protected the woman's wrists and forearms, while straps of the same materials encircled her upper arms.

"Are you hurt?" the woman suddenly asked with a kind voice, casting the girl a mild look as she extended her hand for her to grab, to help her stand.

Amarice was shocked to hear this painted warrior woman of the woods, who moments earlier growled like a savage, address her in a Latin that although bore a particular accent, was spoken flawlessly.

"You speak!" she uttered in disbelief, realizing only afterwards the ridiculousness of her affirmation. After all her father had explained to her that the Woads were people like any other, not daemons from beyond.

"I am human," the Woad replied as softly as before.

Amarice chuckled and took her hand, pushing herself off the ground although the woman used more strength to pull her up before she even realized it.

"Yes, I know … I meant … umm … you speak Latin?"

The woman answered quickly and briefly: "Know your enemy!" It had meaning to her, she spoke it proudly, Amarice could tell. Not yet sharing her vision the girl remained silent, starring, puzzled still. She might have uttered something eventually if the woman hadn't spoken again. "You must leave now and never venture into the forest like this again."

A sharp command was not what Amarice had wanted to hear and with no impending danger looming about she stood firmly in place, watching the woman approach one of the bodies and beginning to drag it to a hollow at the base of a large tree.

"I'm not afraid," Ammarice burst out defensively, trying to fool even herself.

"You should be. Fear keeps people alive." The woman went on with her business without minding Amarice. "Go home!" she commanded again as she moved to grab the feet of the other dead man.

"I don't want to be afraid," the stubborn girl continued. "I want to be able to defend myself. I want to fight."

The woman stopped and looked up at her with a tired expression.

"Go home."

"I am home. Back there I am only a slave to the Romans."

Something in her words had a profound impact on the Woad, it seemed. Her look suddenly turned to one of sorrow.

"You are a slave?" she asked Amarice with a week voice, so uncommon to the strong character she had displayed up until then.

"No… but I feel like one. I have no Roman blood in me, thank the gods."

The woman listened to the girl but her thoughts were far away, and the look on her face did not change.

"My sister was a slave," she whispered.

"What happened to her?"

"What happens to all slaves." In an instant the woman's temperament switched back to the previous and began dragging the second corpse to the hollow of the large tree. She did not let the curious girl ask more questions at the time but later on Amarice would find out that the woman's sister was the same who had killed the former Governor of Britannia. "Go now! It would not be good for you to be around if anyone comes and discovers the bodies."

More determined than ever, Amarice strode forward with confidence or more likely stubbornness and stopped behind the blue painted warrior woman.

"I want to fight, to be a warrior. You are a Woad, aren't you? You could teach me to be like you."

With both of the bodies out of the way, crammed in the hollow and covered with dirt and leafy branches, the woman turned to Amarice bearing a grave expression.

"We fight for a purpose, for our children's future, not for pleasure or spectacle. What do you know of our cause? You call us Woads like they do!" she sounded reproachfully, angry even.

"I thought that's what …" the words stumbled over her tongue and she did not have a chance to speak with more sense.

"We are Britons," the woman spoke firmly. "Just like the others you've met, but unlike them we would rather die trying to free our land than bow down willingly to those tyrants." Gradually the woman's temper softened. "A woad is not a person, it is a plant. It gives colour to our skin and binds us with the land we strive to protect. To be guardians of this land we must become like water, soft on the inside and hard on the outside. Nothing is soft like water, yet who could withstand the raging flood!"

Such passion was in her words that Amarice could not help look up at her with admiration. The woman continued.

"They call us Woads because that is all they see, the painted mortal vessel of our soul, but they cannot understand what lies beneath."

"I am not like them," Amarice defended herself, wanting to prove she did understand, she could not yet feel it with the same passion as the woman, but she did understand what she meant. "I am a Britton. My mother is a Britton."

"And your father? You said you have no Roman blood in you."

"I don't. My father is a Sarmatian Knight!" Amarice spoke proudly, more so than before. Far from being impressed by it, the woman's figure turned grim.

"He may as well be Roman. No great difference between the two," she spoke almost with disdain.

The girl frowned and immediately defended her father. He might have not given are all that she wanted but she still admired him.

"That is not true. My father despises the Romans and so do the other Knights. They've been brought here from far away, taken from their home like slaves and forced to fight for the Empire. All they want to do is go back, but they must wait for The Emperor to set them free, otherwise they'd be killed."

"They slaughter us without mercy!"

"They have no choice."

"And their leader? The Commander of the Fort is half Britton yet he takes Rome's side and murders his kinsmen."

"He's a good and wise man. I'm sure he doesn't like doing what he does. I suppose he has no other choice, like the others."

There was a long silence. The woman looked away from Amarice, starring in the distance towards the fort and the wall whose outline could barely be made out amongst the trees. Finally she looked back to the girl.

"And you? Why do you want to be a fighter? What cause do you have to fight for?" The question might have seemed a mock one had the woman not maintained a stern posture.

"Your cause … Our cause! I am a Britton and I want to see the Romans gone as much as you do."

The woman looked at her and said nothing. The girl was persistent and determined in her demands and it was as if in any moment she would burst out and claim she would be a warrior no matter what, she would learn eventually even if no one was willing to teach her.

She gazed back to Amarice and extended her hand:

"I am Cinnia … your new teacher."

Overexcited and bewildered, the girl starred back with a mixed expression of disbelief and joy. It happened, her dream had finally come true and she could not believe it; so unexpectedly and so simple.

"Amarice … my name is Amarice," she smiled frantically and reached out to grab the woman's forearm just above her wrist, while Cinnia did the same. She had always wanted to do that, to greet someone and be greeted back in a firm, powerful way, like men greeted each other but never a woman.

The two of them began to walk away from the sight of the earlier conflict. Cinnia would have never got involved in such an affair, accepting to train an unknown girl she just met to be a fighter , but this girl reminded her so much of her sister. If she could not save her sister, perhaps she could save Amarice, train her mind as well as her body and soothe her impulsive temper. Amarice being as she was now, Cinnia could imagine her in the place of her sister, influenced by emotions instead of reason and rushing out to do brave deeds and even sacrifice herself for the greater good. Her sister's sacrifice had not been in vain but Cinnia could not stop believing there might have been another way.

"I will teach you to defend yourself, not go to war," Cinnia laid out firmly the basic condition of their agreement and Amarice nodded; she was too happy to protest even if she had wanted to.

She wanted more, much more than Cinnia was offering but for a start it was more than she had dreamt of. They parted quickly that day, planning to meet a few hours each day or at least a few days a week, depending on how often Amarice could manage to sneak out of the fort. Before they parted Cinnia shared with her the reason for her being there: she was a spy appointed with the task of surveying the Roman fort and report any significant occurrences.

* * *

**469 AD **_**(Present Time)**_

Two years passed since that faithful encounter and Amarice's days of innocent youth had been left behind, buried in that hollow in the woods together with those corpses that had rotted away without anyone finding them. The girl, now a young woman, only seventeen in age but physically appearing older than other females of her generation, had trained and acquired sufficient skills to put up a defense, strike back and overcome a possible attacker or more. Still, calling her a warrior would have been an overstatement. Even though her father was gone for several weeks at a time, which made sneaking out easier for her, the conditions in which her training took place did not allow for sophisticated or more efficient training. Most of the time Cinnia would give her instructions for exercises Amarice had to do on her own, several times a day. But who had time for such a rigorous routine?

When she was not scolding Amarice for wandering off on her own, Vanora burdened her daughter with a series of tasks of her own. Amarice ended up spending more time doing the household chores she detested and less time practicing for what she really wanted to become. To add to her misery, the sentimental troubles that came with the age became overnight a great obstacle in the way of fulfilling her dream. Naïve as she used to be a few years back, she would have never imagined that the simple act of caring for another person could get such a strong hold on her that she willingly postponed even the goal that was most important to her. Seven years back when Lancelot swept her off the ground and onto his horse, taking her to safety, all she wanted to do was escape, push him off and run away, back to the battlefield. Now she would have given anything to be held like that again and she would never let him go and would not want to be anywhere else but by his side.

Amarice dreamt of Lancelot as any woman dreams of a man. She craved for the simplest things in life, those that need not be bought, a touch, a smile, a kiss, an embrace, not for a passing moment but for a lifetime. It was not long before she came to realize that the simplest of things were also the most difficult to obtain. Acquiring a great fortune over night suddenly seemed more doable than gaining another's affection, especially a man's, especially Lancelot's. Often she would scold herself mentally, get angry even for having such thoughts and behaving like a common woman in search of a marriage and nothing more. She did not need a man to take care of her, Amarice thought stubbornly, she did not want to have to take care of a man, a husband, and still she desperately yearned for a soft touch or a mere glance, if she was not destined to have anything more. Day and day after Amarice suffered deeply, thinking of the man she could not have, as if she had tried over and over again to draw him to her and he had rejected her every single time.

In truth, she had never tried anything and Lancelot did not even know her. Perhaps he remembered rescuing one of Bors' children years back and he might have even known that the oldest offspring was a girl named Amarice –since she and Gilly were the only ones who had been given names– but he would most likely not recognize seventeen year old Amarice if he came face to face with her. Amarice never had the courage nor the opportunity to even speak to Lancelot, let alone confess her feelings. Ever since she turned fifteen Vanora noticed that it would not be long before her daughter developed into a beautiful young woman and fearing she might become a target for abusive, lustful men, she had her wearing plain robes that revealed nothing but her hands and neck, emphasizing none of her feminine forms. The beautiful, thick, wavy, brown-reddish hair she had inherited from her mother was also hidden behind a sort of scarf most peasant women wore. The girl had asked her mother to let her help out at the tavern, as she had done before, but Vanora strictly declined, allowing her on occasions to at best sit in the small kitchen in the back and do the washing.

* * *

Something had changed of late. The cause did not bear a name, it was simply a general anxiety. Roman order slipped into a slow decline, native rebellions grew stronger and there was something more, unseen, unknown, but there, waiting. Nothing was the same for Amarice. It became more and more difficult to escape into the woods and often Cinnia would not even be there. It never happened before and the excuses she offered were quite evasive. With a warm smile she assured Amarice she would always be there for her.

"If I do not come to you again, than I am dead," she told her once, last time they met.

She never came again.

* * *

_I really enjoy writing this story, but being busier than ever with college I might find it difficult to postpone my other chores in favour of this story, unless I have encouragements and the best encouragements are, of course, **reviews**. _

_So please **review** and give this poor girl a little encouragement! _


	4. Chapter 3: To Woo a Woad

**NOTE: **_ Behold the outstanding influence of reviews on this wretched soul! _

_Because of your kind and encouraging words my dear reviewers, and especially _**Kinkajous17**_'s whose review posted so close to the winter holiday (and a greatly expected free time for me) drew my attention back to this story which, although I did not forget, I was forced to abandon temporarily due to abundant school work, I have finally found the inspiration and impulse to continue writing. _

_Therefore I dedicated some of my free time during the 2 week holiday to writing a new chapter. The most amazing thing was that while at home, where I had no computer, no internet access and no dvds with the KA movie, I had the fortune to find that they were showing the movie on TV. An amazing coincidence indeed and it couldn't have come at a better time. So, with the movie and also a small picture of Lancelot from the TV guide serving as stimuli I had enough encouragement to put my creativity to work._

_**~ * ~**  
_

_Thank you _**Vampirebaby13**_, _**hermonine**_, _**hvidfresia**_, _**M**_ and _**moony's number 1** _for reviewing!_

_Special thanks to _**TragicCure** _and _**Anime Princess** _for being faithful reviewers! _

_I am looking forward to hearing from all of you again and from new readers as well. _

**_~ * ~_**

_Oh, and most importantly, this is the chapter when Lancelot and Amarice finally meet, however brief._

_

* * *

_**CHAPTER 3: **_**To Woo a Woad**_

_**

* * *

**_For almost two years past the pre-established date of their discharge, the Sarmatian knights stationed at Fort Vercovicium had been waiting for their release papers. Whenever news came it usually involved the delay of the said documents or the assurance that they would be arriving shortly; but they never did and the knights would have abandoned all hopes of returning to their homeland if not for Arthur's encouragement. Almost all the other forts -annexed to the wall- west of Vercovicium had been vacated. Whoever remained behind abandoned the strict Roman schedule and duties, fabricating instead a government of their own.

Fort Vercovicium and its surrounding settlements had become more crowded than ever due to the constant arrival of many refugees from the west. This burdened Vanora's duties at the tavern and when the available help proved insufficient she had no other choice but to call in her two oldest daughters, 17 year old Amarice and her 13 year old sister, known as Number Two but named Iris by her older sister, after the flowers the younger girl liked so much. Since she was the only one closest to Amarice's age of all the eleven siblings, a tighter bond had formed between the two girls. Although she did not want to reveal her secret life to anyone, not even to her sister and confident, Iris had become suspicious and to stop the younger girl from following her to one of her secret meetings with Cinnia, Amarice confessed everything, making the girl swear there and then not to share her secret with anyone.

While Amarice had physically matured past her current age, the younger Iris had been endowed with a more mature mind despite her tender age, which made her the ideal partner-in-crime to cover her sister's absence whenever necessary and to keep any secret she was entrusted with. Amarice's infatuation with Lancelot was one of those secrets. This was something that Amarice revealed on purpose to Iris under the burning impulse of the girly gossips that came with the age, because for Amarice this was also the only way to get close to Lancelot. If she could not yet approach him in real life she could at least be with him in her fantasies.

"Amarice, are you done? … Amarice?" When the girl did not answer Vanora turned to find her daughter standing still in front of the kitchen table with frozen hands stuck in the dough she was kneading. Her expression was vacant and she did not seem to acknowledge her position.

"She's in love," Iris chuckled from the other end of the table, which made Amarice's head snap up and her brows furrowed at the girl who so easily revealed her long kept secret.

"I'm not in love," she replied through gritted teeth.

"There's nothing wrong with that, sweetheart," Vanora explained with unusual kindness that almost made Amamrice think she had consumed more alcohol than she should have, and so early in the day too. The truth was that she was a different person when Bors was at home, by her side, and her family was safe and together. Now she was happier, more giving and more understanding than ever, whereas whenever Bors was away she would become awfully suspicious, overly concerned and cranky.

"So who's this boy you like?" Vanora went on questioning her daughter.

"There is no boy," the girl rolled her eyes in exasperation, tired of everyone constantly assuming that she should be involved with someone her age or close to it. "I don't want a boy, I want a man."

"… in shining armor," Iris could not stop herself from adding.

Amarice once again shot her a threatening glare and Vanora's exalting joyfulness suddenly tempered down.

"Don't tell me you're smitten now with one of those womanizers of your father's bunch. Gods forbid!"

"And what would be so wrong with that?"

"I might not regret my life choices but I don't want you pregnant at seventeen. You need a young man to love and respect you not some horny bastard lusting for a young …" Vanora stopped abruptly her frantic gesticulations and raised one hand as if to impose silence. "I was going to say something nasty but I won't."

"How do you know they're all like that, from experience?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Suddenly the playful conversation had come dangerously close to a quarrel.

"You know very well what. All that muffled gossiping going on at the tavern about my father not being the father of all your children, is that true mother? I think at least Iris and I are old enough to know."

"You're slandering your mother because of the ramblings of some drunkards?"

The impatient, quick tempered Amarice spoke quickly before her mother could add anything more.

"We promise we won't tell father but don't you think we should know which men to stay away from?" the girl replied with deliberate irony and a smug air in her demeanor.

"All of them! Stay away from all of them. And I have told you the truth, all of you are your father's children." Vanora's new calm and serious posture concealed a certain sorrow that Amarice did not know how to interpret. Despite her mother's reassurance she still had doubts. Seeing her mother move away from the table and finding work in the opposite side of the kitchen brought a hint of regret over Amarice. She thought about apologizing but was held back by her pride, the annoyance she still felt for what her mother told her and the fact that she did not fully believe the last answer she had been given.

"Galahad might be fancying Amarice," Iris broke the silence, smirking at her older sister who in return starred at her bemused, not knowing where that unexpected affirmation came from.

"I thought Amarice wanted a man," Vanora grinned from the other end of the room, all sorrows apparently forgotten. Only she knew the true nature of her soul for she could hide her emotions quite well. "If you hardly have the patience to look after the young ones when I ask you to I can't imagine what you'd do with Galahad."

A shrill female giggle filled the kitchen and a few more frisky gossips later the noise died down and the surrounding sounds of a busy late morning prevailed once more. Amarice was pleased that the previous uncomfortable moment had been overcome and forgotten and not for the first time she was grateful for her sister's saving intervention. Later on they were both enjoying a moment of well deserved rest in between the daily chores. They sat on the wooden floor of the porch outside the kitchen, located in the building east of the tavern. Only a narrow alley and a ditch filled with water separated the two large buildings. If the girls' location was not easy to spot because of the wooden planks connecting the floor with the porch's banister, they in turn had a perfect overview of the tavern by peeking through the empty spaces between the planks.

"I was not thinking about … him, earlier," Amarice felt the need to clarify that matter. Luckily she was more attentive this time and corrected herself before saying out loud Lancelot's name. She had made a habit of simply saying "him" whenever she wanted to talk about Lancelot since there was always the danger of being overheard by the wrong person in the wrong circumstance.

"Impossible to imagine," Iris teased before Amarice went on explaining herself.

"I'm worried about Cinnia. I haven't seen her for a month. Where is she?"

"She probably has more important problems to deal with. Her people fight to survive while you're so-called training was just a whim. You were probably holding her back."

"You don't know anything about our training. She was so good to me, she really wanted to help me."

"Why? You've got no one attacking you here, you're not going into battle. What was the point of all that exhausting workout?"

"I could go to battle … if it wasn't for him!" This time "him" was a substitute for her father, whom Amarice spotted through the hollows separating the planks. He looked careless and happy, engaged in a loud conversation with two other men in front of the tavern. "We should fight these Romans not serve them."

"We'll be done with the Romans when we leave."

Suddenly, without being aware of it, Iris had brought forth one of Amarice's greatest fears. She must have been the only one who rejoiced whenever the arrival of the discharge papers of the Sarmatian knights was postponed. What would happen when they arrived? Will they go to Sarmatia, a land so far away that it seemed only a fabulation of legends? Her father had often expressed the desire of remaining in Britannia and taking control of whatever the Romans left behind, which was a more than perfect outcome for Amarice, but then what would Lancelot do? Leave with the others? Even the thought of losing him forever frightened Amarice.

"I don't want to leave," Amarice whispered on a low, hoarse voice, her gaze fixed on a certain spot before her. "All this can't have been for nothing. My destiny is to be a warrior and fight for this country, for our people, I know it, I just do."

"Maybe father will want to stay like he said but that doesn't mean …"

"I know," Amarice interrupted her sister, knowing what she wanted to say, the same thing she had been thinking, the outcome she dreaded the most. She wanted to remain in Britannia but she wanted Lancelot to be there as well. "I have to make him stay, I have to speak to him, convince him somehow."

"He doesn't even know you," Iris emphasized the sad truth.

Amarice lowered her eyes to the hands she had cupped in her lap and sighed. But just like that a wave of confidence swept over her and she lifted her head proudly.

"Then I'll have to make him know me, even if it kills me." She jumped to her feet and smiled down at Iris. "I'm going to look for Cinnia. Tell mother I've gone to visit Tegan and if I don't come back before nightfall tell her I'm spending the night."

Tegan was a girl whom Amarice had befriended on purpose because the girl's parents lived in a house at the edge of the forest so visiting this new friend or the simple pretext of it gave Amarice the perfect alibi for covering her secret meetings. Because Vanora had dedicated her entire daily schedule to keeping the fort's tavern and lend a hand in the kitchen, she had earned her own private chamber in the same building that housed the tavern. Later when her children had become too numerous to fit in one single room, two other rooms were assigned for the ever-growing number of offsprings. Before setting off to look for Cinnia, Amarice made a short stop in the crowded chamber she shared with her sisters to change as she always did on such occasions in the Woad-like outfit she had made for herself and thus named for its resemblance to the clothing worn by the rebel Britons she had indirectly associated with.

To hide it from view when she walked outside Amarice slipped her usual dress over the outfit and being quite large it fit perfectly. The only thing out of place was the sheathed sword hanging from a waist belt against her left thigh. A few loose wooden planks beneath Amarice's bed exposed a hollow in the earth that proved to be an ideal hiding place for her sword and the rest of her unusual outfit. When she walked outside, the sword which had to be concealed above anything else lay in hiding beneath the folds of a long cape which she also tied in the front. This simple trick had proven to be useful on every single occasion, especially since the ragged scarf she wore over her hair and forehead made her altogether one of the least desirable targets for the inquiring eyes of bored soldiers.

It was only in the security of the forest that she shed all those burdening layers aside, concealing her package in the hollow of a tree in the vicinity of the cottage of her supposed best friend. That spot there was her self-made customs to the life she truly wanted, for it was through that place that she always passed on the way to meet Cinnia or when returning to the fort. Beyond the imagined frontier she now walked free with nothing concealed, not her embellishing hair that swung in the breeze, not her body, more exposed than covered by the leather straps and metal ornaments, and not her light sword which she had conveniently strapped to her back. The world she had stepped into was one void of prejudice, malice or scheming. There, only in the company of Mother Nature, source of all creation, one could be oneself, just like they had been created and free of all manmade constraints that smothered one's aspirations if they strained from the rigid social path.

Still, at the end of the day the overwhelming sensation of freedom was once more crushed by the disillusion of ending yet another escapade with the same tragic finale. Cinnia did not come. Amarice had walked further than usual, even reaching a secluded clearing where some of the rebels used to seek shelter. She found the place deserted and remains of old fires or plucked vegetation showed that the place had been long vacated. Though the last words that Cinnia had offered her had been ringing in her ears for days Amarice refused to acknowledge them and fought a fierce inner battle with her reason, which manifested on the outside in sudden outbursts of nervousness or even anger. She refused to accept as a possibility that Cinnia could in fact be dead. 'Why now'? she stubbornly questioned the very belief that had taught her everything happened for a reason. Cinnia was to her more than a simple friend, she was a sister, a surrogate mother and the closest friend she had ever had, perhaps more than her true sister, Iris.

Hours later, disappointed but reluctant to abandon her hopes for Cinnia's well being, Amarice embarked on the inevitable journey back, back to the tree, back to her make-belief existence and back to all her sorrows. Some could have compared Amarice's discontent with indifference, claiming that she should be grateful for having such a good life when others had so much less, but Amarice chose to ignore this and it was such responses that determined her to keep her life goals secret. She comforted herself with the thought that her actions were not harming anyone less fortunate than her; instead, she strived to reach a position from where she could help the less fortunate ones. Granted, those were ideas that Cinnia had planted in the rebellious and somewhat spoiled girl's mind, hoping to give her cause a true purpose.

The path she took on her return was one different from the one along which she had come. Here the land was more uneven and a rippling brook wound between tall trees and rocky floors. The sun had not yet set and Amarice hopped to reach the forest's outskirts before darkness settled. She walked along the brook's bank focusing only on where her next step would be and the noise of the running water blocked any other surrounding sounds from her mind, a grave mistake for one who wished to become a skilled warrior. One of the main conditions to obtaining that position was not to be able to be easily surprised by a possible enemy, which she soon was.

At the first glance of a black stallion grazing on the other side of the brook Amarice jumped behind a tree in a most hasty and disorganized manner, producing much noise in the relative silence of the area. Not remembering to have seen anyone on or around the horse Amarice carefully peeked from behind the tree for a better look. Something about that horse looked familiar, perhaps it was the harness it wore for there were many black stallions at the fort and Amarice had never been too good at observing details and distinguishing between animals unless the difference was blunt.

Her mind went on thinking about the horse's master and just when she began wondering who else might have ventured into the forest, for it looked like the horse belonged to someone at the fort, the master made his appearance when the animal lowered its long neck to drink from the refreshing water. Much faster than the first time Amarice pulled back her head behind the protective cover of the tree, praying she had not been spotted. There had been no eye contact, she had barely caught a glimpse of the one standing on the other side of the brook, yet it was enough to know who it was. The dark outfit was unmistakable for there was only one cut out in that particular fashion: Lancelot's.

As much as Amarice had dreamt of meeting Lancelot like this, away from everyone and everything in a place where they could be alone, free to know each other, she despised the situation she found herself in. She wanted to be in control, not hide behind a tree, actually wishing that Lancelot left. Did he see her? Would he recognize her if he saw her? Would he tell her father? The questions popped one after the other in Amarice's mind before she could think of a possible answer and this second moment of inattention made her realize only too late that Lancelot had crossed the brook and was standing on the other side of the tree she was hiding behind.

"You are new at this," he broke the silence speaking on a calm and slightly amused tone. Before registering his words Amarice was yet again mesmerized by the deep and elegant voice that spoke Latin as clearly as if it were his native tongue.

Amarice froze on the spot. She did not know what to do. Did he really know she was hiding there or did he just make it up to draw her out? When no response came on her behalf he spoke again.

"Come out, this is childish. I know you are there," his voice sounded like that of a parent tired of scolding his child.

Being called childish was something that Amarice disliked greatly and upon hearing him utter those words she forgot about her fears and stepped out from behind the tree to greet him with a mixed look of frustration and indifference, wanting to show him he had been the one to disturb her and she was not impressed by the superior attitude he displayed. Despite the self-confidence she was trying to gather, coming face to face with Lancelot for the first time was more intimidating than she had expected. When she became aware of the fact that she was staring at him while he gazed back with a look that made it difficult to understand whether he was smiling kindly or smirking ironically, Amarice unclenched her tongue and let loose the first words that came to mind.

"What am I new at?"

"Spying," he replied calmly. "Was it not that what you were doing? You seem to be rather clumsy at it."

How strange and how disappointing, how very disappointing! Amarice's observation of human interactions involving members of opposite genders had led her to believe that a man when faced with a beautiful woman would become mesmerized and since she thought of herself as a beautiful young woman, Amarice was stunned to see this man, rumored to be a notorious lady's man, showing no particular interest in her. Instead he spoke to her as if she were just another insignificant peasant and his voice and gestures carried all the pride, arrogance and selfishness she had noticed about him while watching him in secret at the fort, over the years, but which she chose to ignore, imagining he would be different when he met her.

The only good thing that came of this initial interaction was that Amarice understood he really did not know her. He did not recognize her and it seemed he thought her to be a Woad, which made Amarice proud of having succeeded in that transformation.

"I did not expect you to be here," Amarice spoke in her defense, striving to show more arrogance than she had perceived in his demeanor. In her new found smugness she also imitated Lancelot's literary speech, thinking that he did that on purpose just to show off more of his arrogant self. Lancelot however did not seem to have noticed this or perhaps he did not care.

"If it weren't for you I wouldn't be spying or hiding."

"Me?" Lancelot raised his brows, bemused.

"You Romans," Amarice quickly added to let him know she had used the plural form earlier, although in truth she had been thinking only of him when she had hastily uttered the phrase. "You've made us outcasts in our own country."

"That was your own choice," Lancelot opted for a simple reply that held half of the truth. While he did not care much about either Romans or Britons and was more keen on returning to his homeland, he found it useless and tiresome at the time to engage in a more elevated conversation (which would have most certainly become contradictory) with this peculiar girl he had encountered in the woods at dusk.

"And what other choice was there? Turn slave willingly?" she burst out with anger.

Unfazed by her reaction Lancelot crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head to one side, allowing his eyes to roam up and down all over her body and doing it in a most obvious manner so she would notice what he was doing.

"If you were my slave I would make you enjoy it," he retorted with a cocky smile.

The sudden change in Lancelot's demeanor puzzled Amarice and though pleased to hear him make such innuendoes she strove to not let him know it.

"Is that so? And how would you do that?" she sneered, placing her hands on her hips.

Lancelot took his time in answering. First the smirk on his lips grew larger and then he took one step closer to her.

"Are you that naïve?" he asked softly. Only he knew the true meaning of his words but Amarice perceived it as a subtle mocking. His bold words and sudden gestures disarmed the unexpecting girl, making her a vulnerable prey before the agile predator. Her hands slid down from her hips, hanging weakly against her body, and with them her arrogant attitude dropped as well. Neither of them spoke for a long while, starring into each other's eyes until Lancelot's narrowed all of a sudden and his brow furrowed, as if he remembered something or became aware of an evident reality. Whether it was Amarice's appearance which he observed better when he stepped closer, whether it was her voice or her earlier display of a fiery temper, something made Lancelot say:

"You look so familiar … and yet I cannot quite place it."

Even more shocked by this affirmation and the possibility of being discovered, Amarice searched her mind for something witty to say.

"Your pride must be holding you back," the girl uttered with some new found pride of her own.

Lancelot managed to hide his confusion behind calm smugness.

"What does that mean?"

"It is possible we've met before, on the battlefield. I've probably bested you in battle but you're too proud to admit it."

Nothing else Amarice might have said could have made Lancelot laugh more thoroughly.

"Believe me, if such a thing happened I would have remembered it."

"Then next time we meet I will make sure you remember me … it," Amarice's heart was beating faster than ever; she hid her nervousness behind a forced grin and hoped that she had been fast enough in correcting her final error so that Lancelot did not notice it.

Still, the smirk on his lips and the look in his eyes made her believe he had perceived much more. Having sensed that moment to be the ideal one for ending their awkward meeting, Amarice had already begun to move to her right, gradually distancing herself from him while their eyes remained locked on each other.

"Until next time then," Lancelot replied calmly, making no effort to detain her or inquire about her actions.

Walking backwards at first, Amarice turned her back to Lancelot when she far enough and ran back into the woods without ever looking back, straying from her path but continuing even so since she could not afford to be seen heading towards the fort. She almost got lost that night trying to get back through the dark but fortune was on her side and almost two hours before midnight she passed the gates of the fort. Lancelot was nowhere to be seen and Amarice kept wondering if he had followed her, back in the woods, or if he had spotted her by accident from a distance while she was trying to find her way back.

Though far from being the perfect first encounter she had always dreamt of, Amarice found somewhat interesting this unexpected event and was eager to play along in this game they had unknowingly started. If she could convince Lancelot that she was a Woad then maybe he could actually support her decision of being a warrior after she would have revealed her true identity. So, while up until then she wanted to find ways to make him notice her, with this new plan in motion she had to do everything in her power to never cross paths with him while at the fort. A simple task she would say, remembering her past misfortune of never coming face to face with Lancelot in a circumstance where he would at least notice her, if engaging in a conversation was already too high an expectation, yet, faith works in mysterious ways and oh how it delights in making one's misery come true.

* * *

_I was wondering, just for the sake of argument … (and this applies to all fanfic characters out there who might fit in Amarice's position) … if Amarice and Lancelot were to have a serious relationship and he would indeed be the father of some of Vanora's children, then that would make Amarice … the step-mother of her half-brothers/sisters??? Just a little (amusing) food for thought :P_

_And you know who else I'm thinking of bringing into the story? Jols! I have started to have sympathetic thoughts towards this secondary but interesting character. I often notice great potential in minor characters and feel the need to bring them foreword in the spotlight. So I was thinking to make him the first person my other original character, Maniya, meets when she arrives at the fort and she will interact with him long before she meets any of the knights. Nothing romantic, just polite interactions, because I see him as a friendly and trustworthy guy. _

**_"All's well that ends well!"_**

_Please **review** my dear readers!_


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